


Who by the fire

by UlsPi



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Arguing, Aromantic, Asexuality, Bickering, Gen, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Queerplatonic Relationships, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Now, number 12 hadn't had a rival since Missy, as she had been called, eloped with her English teacher sweetheart. Number 12 cursed the English teacher whose name he couldn't recall and just suffered in silence and made sure everyone suffered with him. He loved his students, of course. He was a total arse during the staff meetings. The headmaster said he wanted a challenge and rubbed her hands.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 17





	1. Fuckity hi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natalunasans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalunasans/gifts).

> Betaed, inspired and proofread by natalunasans.

There was one thing any new student had to understand about the TARDIS (Terribly Awesome Rejected Divergent Impossible School). It was that nobody would ever fit in, because all of those students had been called unfitting in the past. Mocked, bullied, humiliated, laughed at, name any experience, and you'd find a student who'd been through it. 

TARDIS accepted those deemed unacceptable. TARDIS educated those deemed impossible to teach. TARDIS sent them to the best universities and TARDIS gave them the future they deserved. 

The department of physics, that was what made TARDIS so famous. The fact that the department of physics engaged in linguistics and anything considered far from physics was of no importance. Anyone was welcome.

The first head of the department was old-fashioned and strange. The second was funny. The third was awesome. The fourth still had to be eclipsed by someone. The tenth eloped with the daughter of the fifth. The twelfth was a grumpy Scot who'd never… actually anything. He'd never. 

The head of the department of physics would always have a kind of a rival in his second to best teacher. One of them, an angry Scot herself eloped with an English teacher and both women had been notoriously happy ever since. 

Now, number 12 hadn't had a rival since Missy, as she had been called, eloped with her English teacher sweetheart. Number 12 cursed the English teacher whose name he couldn't recall and just suffered in silence and made sure everyone suffered with him. He loved his students, of course. He was a total arse during the staff meetings. The headmaster said he wanted a challenge and rubbed her hands.

That was how one foggy morning Twelve found a beautiful man in the teacher's room. He had a furious fringe, long eyelashes, lovely beard and smelled of the finest mischief. He publicly spat on the curriculum, and to everyone's surprise, Twelve who hated the curriculum himself (who didn't?) got furious about it. 

"How dare you?" Said Twelve.

"I do dare. I should dare, you twat!" Said Eyelashes and smirked. "Anyone blessed with a mind should do it!"

"It was approved by the First! By the Fourth! Even the Eighth agreed with it!" Yelled Twelve.

"All the more reason to despise it," replied Eyelashes with a shrug, and so it began.

In all honesty, nobody liked the curriculum and Twelve himself had always been angry with it, but Eyelashes turned the anger into art. His pupils adored him. Twelve did too but he wasn't going to show it. 

Eyelashes suggested they talk over a pint. They talked. Eyelashes spent the night on Twelve's sofa and vomited his brains out in the morning. Everyone became convinced that Twelve was in love, that Eyelashes was in love.

"The ultimate ship," said Miss Khan, a young dreamy PE teacher who spoke seven languages and accidentally taught her students to count in all seven. "Eyebrows and Eyelashes. They are meant to be together!"

***

The pints kept coming that evening, which was bound to end in being sick down Twelve's ultramarine toilet.

"How come you speak of poetry when you teach physics?" Asked Eyelashes, still capable of forming full sentences. Twelve had the habit of forming long speeches instead of sentences and luckily for Eyelashes he had drunk enough to lower himself to just sentences.

"Physics is poetry." Twelve began. His mind knew that there was a speech here somewhere but he couldn't see it. "Stuff rhymes in the universe. Everything is in the most poetic state of chaos."

"Chaos is lovely precisely because nothing rhymes. No poetic nonsense in chaos."

"You just can't see it! But it's there. Like… like…"

"It's not there!" Eyelashes argued. "It's a totally different… language. And this language has no need to sing and dance in order to be beautiful."

Eyelashes was still traumatised by the footage of Eleven dancing at a wedding of two of his students, so any idea of dancing seemed repulsive to him. Of course he was completely oblivious to the fact that he tended to dance like nobody was watching while in fact everyone was.

"Everything needs to be music!" Insisted Twelve. "Actually everything is music!"

"Nah, this is a boring way of seeing things. Why does everything have to be… something? Everything can be everything. In perfect disarray."

Eyelashes felt a bit hypocritical, his own flat was so organised he was afraid of living in it. He spent his time there trying not to mess everything and messed everything gloriously the moment he took his shoes off… From then on it was the bacchanal of entropy. Then his impeccably neat landlord alphabetised the place again. He downed another pint to forget it. 

"Perfect disarray can be music too!" Twelve looked somehow both touched and furious. It was his normal face but Eyelashes didn't know it yet.

"But doesn't have to! There's no sound in space. The most remarkable, breathtaking processes take place in complete silence and it's beautiful."

Twelve pondered it.

"You have a point." He reluctantly agreed. "But silence is music too!"

"There you go again!"

"Here I go again! Music is impossible without silence. Silence is crucial to music."

"That's paradoxical, I love it." Eyelashes nodded. 

They decided to up their game and ordered Scotch but the barman decided they had had enough. Twelve became just furious, and Eyelashes was the epitome of cool rage. They left the pub and stumbled towards Twelve's house, since it made perfect sense that Twelve, being a Scot, had Scotch, which of course he did. 

Searching for glasses seemed such a waste of time and effort so they used the bottle as a magic stick and spoke only when in possession of it.

"People are strange and boring." Concluded Eyelashes, out of nowhere.

"People are wonderful!" Argued Twelve. "And strange. And boring. They have all these… rules. About social interactions. Why should I commiserate with someone's someone death if I had never met that someone? Maybe they were the right bastard and the world is all the better for it!"

Eyelashes processed it.

"I think it's something to do with… identifying with their grief."

"But it won't make their grief any easier. Or… or… why should I understand that when people nod at me they want me to go away, while they might simultaneously nod in agreement?"

"Pity they have just one head." Eyelashes remarked.

"They barely know how to use one anyway." 

"Agreed." Eyelashes sighed and dozed off a bit. 

"And how come the kids are so smart and funny," yelled Twelve waking Eyelashes up, "but adults are just so… boring? Maybe the kids do have several heads?"

"Counted. Only have one."

"Then it must be bigger… on the inside!" Concluded Twelve triumphantly.

"Right. Brilliant! Well done!" Eyelashes was enthusiastic one moment and sound asleep the following. Twelve kept talking slowly regaining his ability to make speeches which led him to completely miss the fact that his guest had fallen asleep. Twelve didn't sleep much. The music of the universe had to be listened to intently at all hours. 


	2. Fuckity what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope I've done justice. Would love concrit.

Many people are romantics. They see romance everywhere they look. It might be exhausting. Well, Ms Khan was indefatigable when it came to romance and she was a very energetic woman, so before long the whole staff shipped Twelve and Eyelashes, some even swooned when they saw that both men seemed entirely oblivious to their mutual attraction. Ms Khan retreated only once when she saw Twelve wistfully looking at a picture of a badass blond woman on Twelve's phone. 

"Who's that?" She asked fearing she must have come to a wrong conclusion.

"Wife," Twelve said sadly. 

"Oh… you never… is she..?"

"We're divorced," clarified Twelve.

"Can you leave the man alone?" Eyelashes interrupted the interrogation and received a grateful look from Twelve. 

"We've been working together for some time and he never mentioned his wife," explained Ms Khan.

"Well, now he never will."

***

As it happened Eyelashes had learned about Mrs Twelve long before Ms Khan. The first drunken night transformed into almost daily walks home together, many shared meals and even more long conversations. One night Eyelashes carefully asked Twelve about his family. 

"Dead. I'm rather old, you know."

"No, I don't. You don't seem old."

"Are you flirting with me?" Twelve asked in panic.

"No way!" Eyelashes looked insulted. "Never flirt. Seems like a huge waste of my wit."

"I had a wife. She's… brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. We were great friends. She loved me, I'm afraid. I mean… I loved her too, just not the way she'd like me to. She was alright with it for a while, but in the end… I can't take responsibility for someone's broken heart if I don't have one."

"What the fuck does that mean? You love your students like crazy, and your secret is safe with me, by the way." Eyelashes raised his hands seeing as Twelve frowned.

"I mean… I mean I've never been in love, you know?"

"So what? Even ancient Greeks knew many kinds of love. Romantic love is but one of them."

"Why, thank you. I totally didn't know that."

"Oh dear me, your sarcasm can sour milk."

"Oh stop it." 

"I've never fallen in love either. It's a great concept, mind you. Just… not for me. Or for you. Doesn't make me a bad person, doesn't make you a heartless person. I bet you're a great friend. I know you're a great, boring, poetic, maddening teacher. We don't always choose what we like, but nobody reproaches you for hating broccoli although there's a lot to hate about this abomination of a vegetable… is it a vegetable?"

"Vegetable is an opinion."

"See? Vegetable is an opinion, and the matters of the heart are even more so!"

"I don't like you being so kind and understanding. Historically you're meant to antagonize me at every turn."

"Alright. So… I'm antagonizing you! You think you're a cold-hearted bastard. I think you're a good person who's never fallen in love. There are worse crimes than that… for example, flat-earthers!"

Twelve growled at this.

"See? See?"

"Yes, I do see. I don't even need glasses!"

"Yeah, that's why you ran into a wall the other day." Eyelashes chuckled.

"I was distracted!"

"And! And! You weren't distracted by someone's arse… or were you?"

"Of course I wasn't. It's impolite, for one thing, and I can admire one's arse out of purely aesthetical… concerns. It wasn't anyone's arse, though."

"You're a decent person. Boring as fuck and sanctimonious as fuck and too prim and idiotic sometimes. But not a bad one."

"I demand evidence!" Twelve stood up. It made him see the pile of dirty dishes that their small dinner for two somehow left in the sink, and he sat down.

"Evidence? Alright. You were talking about one's obligation to always make the right choice, however difficult it might be. Apart from the fact that you shouldn't have been talking about ethics during the lesson about Newton's laws, you totally discard the notion that nobody has an obligation to be a hero. Sometimes the circumstances are indeed dire. Sometimes you have to be a bastard to survive… when enough bastards survive, you get more bastards. Pure Darwinism." Eyelashes lifted his tea as if he had made a perfect point.

"That's some very twisted view of the world."

"The world is a twisted place," replied Eyelashes with conviction. "You can't avoid it… if you manage to be a good person in such a world, then it's my obligation as a twisted bastard to make sure you survive and see how you cope with armies of bastards."

"And gloat?" Twelve asked bitterly.

"No, observe. I'm a scientist, you goody-two-shoes… oh, you're gonna love it!" Eyelashes became so excited he stood up, but the sight of the dirty dishes brought him back to his senses immediately and he sat down again. 

"Love what?" Twelve asked grumpily.

"Look, I asked a class which law of physics they would get rid of if they could. You know what they chose?"

"I'm afraid to think." Twelve replied seriously.

"Gravity. They wanted to cancel gravity. Now, gravity is like love, it comes handy in many different situations."

"Handy?" Twelve asked reproachfully.

"Handy." Eyelashes nodded. "What would you cancel?"

"Entropy." Came the immediate response.

"Thought so. The world without entropy, without chaos is boring. Even Newton couldn't cope with it, if only because he saw that it was against the nature of things. See, Twelve, that's the difference between us. I only observe. You give everything a soul. I doubt we're possible without each other."

"I doubt that too." Twelve smiled.

"Purely aesthetical observation. You have a beautiful smile. Makes your face all wrinkly and like a baked apple. Love it!"

***

Eyelashes was all about mischief. So was Twelve but just like his love for his students, he'd never admit to it. Anyway, as things stood, while Twelve was indeed entirely oblivious to the whole shipping enterprise, Eyelashes was very much aware of it and since he was a mischievous person par excellence, he thoroughly enjoyed the whole teachers' room shamelessly swooning over them while his friendship, his deep bond with Twelve remained a secret, if only because it was not a secret at all. He had finally met his equal and found his likeness. If everyone rejoiced in putting a label on it, then he personally rejoiced in everyone's limited worldview. It says that floods can't wash love away, and if all the damned world wanted to wash away something that wasn't even there, he appreciated it, if only because it protected his own uncommon truth.

Eyelashes was fiercely protective. He didn't want anyone to see the truth. He didn't want anyone to know that while he needed Twelve in his life with the passion he hadn't thought himself capable of, he wouldn't let anyone consider themselves aware of it. He was aromantic, asexual, proud of it and prideful enough to make everyone discover it by themselves. They'd swoon even more, he was sure of it.


	3. Fuckity... Language!

Two could play this game, but Eyelashes enjoyed Twelve's obliviousness too much to share. Besides, he believed in his friend's intelligence. They could have a marvelous banter once Twelve figured everything out, but for now playing on his own would suffice. 

Eyelashes didn't plan anything, since everyone's penchant for romance would provide him with a battlefield full of possibilities to make fun --and a fool-- of all involved parties. 

So he relaxed, let go of any attempts not to draw too much attention to himself which was difficult anyway and decided to be as glorious as he could. 

He began with clothes. While Twelve would wear a lovely Crombie coat over  _ a sweatshirt _ on a regular day and a damn cardigan on special occasions, Eyelashes opted for as many styles as he fancied. However, his liberating decision to play the sly seducer/evil counterpart/besotted best enemy called for something special and something special turned out to be a purple overcoat with huge pockets and two big golden buttons on the back, plaid waistcoat and trousers with touches of orange, preferably silk shirt, but he couldn't be bothered with laundry instructions so Twelve, having listened to a rather tragic rant about the inevitability of wearing a cotton shirt, told Eyelashes to let him do his laundry, so black silk shirts became a permanent… statement? If Eyelashes took advantage of Twelve sticking his own soft black T-shirt in the neat pile of Eyelashes' clothes, nobody needed to know that, although Twelve of course noticed one evening and hummed. Eyelashes ignored it. The t-shirt was comfortable and well-worn, the perfect pyjama top. 

Eyelashes wore his trousers turned up at subtly different levels and bought plenty of wickedly purple socks to match his coat. His shoes were a mix of orange and purple and Eyelashes didn't want to humiliate his shoes by naming their colour. He was dashing and knew it. Twelve did too. Overall, just wearing a coat was enough for Ms Khan to swoon over the fact that they wore  _ matching outfits. _

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Twelve.

"They are not matching!" eExplained Eyelashes. He was triumphant on the inside and annoyed on the outside. All he needed now was some more obvious signs of all the staff swallowing his bait while he could retire at the end of the day to argue with Twelve over their lessons.

"I'm going to use "Alice in Wonderland" in my lesson tomorrow," announced Eyelashes one of those evenings they spent over Indian takeaway (doing the washing upproved to be disastrous for their relationship, so after a few curries that Eyelashes sabotaged most inconspicuously and without thinking that Twelve would figure it out and argue him into scrubbing the pot, they agreed that their most complex cooking would involve sandwiches, and settled for takeouts).

"Rubbing off on you, am I?" Said Twelve with affectionate grumpiness.

"Not at all!" Replied Eyelashes. "You have no idea what I'm planning for you."

"Must be something awful," said Twelve. He frowned and then grinned.

They proceeded to open a bottle of relatively tolerable wine and watch "Interstellar". Twelve got so excited about the depiction of a black hole that his wild gesticulation brought his head on Eyelashes' lap. Eyelashes was just laughing at Twelve and Twelve ignored his fall to continue gesticulating with such ardor that Eyelashes risked losing an eye. 

He absent-mindedly ran his fingers through Twelve's grey curly hair. 

_ Funny thing,  _ thought Eyelashes,  _ the social restrictions of fucking human language don't allow me to say I love you without freaking you out… There's another challenge for me, to build a language for us so that I can say that I love you and you'll frown and grin like you do and say something smug.  _

***

Eyelashes was having the time of his life. Somehow the universe was for once playing on his side providing him with endless opportunities to relish in his mischief. Twelve had to attend his lesson for observation, and Ms Khan joined out of sheer curiosity and the headmaster Ruth wanted to get a look and her militant secretary Donna also wanted to see what he was up to. Eyelashes was afraid of Donna, but so was Twelve, therefore Eyelashes was justified in his fear. Donna still remembered Ten and could send anyone to bureaucratic hell with her  _ Oiiii _ , so Eyelashes tried to always agree with her and compensated for it by disagreeing with everyone else. The legend said that Donna chased away one of Eyelashes' predecessors by pretending to have forgotten his existence. 

Anyway, Eyelashes smiled at the class, and the class smiled back.

Twelve usually thought words could be used to describe emotions only if several languages were used and he in general preferred the dead ones (and German, which allowed him to just slap together a sentence and call it an emotion). He knew Eyelashes wrote those words down, so that Twelve could use the notes as a reference, if he ever thought he experienced the same emotion twice. Twelve believed that emotions were Heraclitus' river and quantum in nature and could never be the same twice, let alone steady and continuous. 

Eyelashes adored him.

So Twelve watched as Eyelashes smiled and Twelve’s breath hitched a bit when Eyelashes swayed his right hand in front of his face pretending to adjust his messy fringe. Beside him Ms Khan made a noise. Twelve looked at her.

"You should tell him," said Ms Khan.

"Tell him what? He's just started."

"You're so oblivious…"

"Yeah, well, so are you," replied Twelve and regretted it immediately. Antagonizing someone when he really wanted to concentrate and listen to Eyelashes was a poor move but Ms Khan decided to do the same when Donna hissed her  _ Oiiii  _ at the young teacher.

"We're going to talk about "Alice in Wonderland"," began Eyelashes.

"That's what Twelve would do," said someone in the class. Eyelashes looked at the student with manic and magnificent ire. 

"No, Twelve would have taken a physical phenomenon and inserted it into an ethical situation and see how you wiggle yourself out of it, while I'm asking you to look at a story as physics. I'm asking you to look at an ethical situation as a physical phenomenon. So what is it that Alice challenges the most?"

"Sanity?" Suggested the same student.

"Close! It's objectivity. Alice shows us over and over that perspective of the scientist --and make no mistake, she is one-- is crucial to understanding or misunderstanding. The shift of perception is what leads her to realise that she's surrounded by cards. That she's dreaming. You can't take that out of any equation. How many people had apples falling on them? Only Newton saw a sign of a universal law in a mundane thing."

"So, you are suggesting that we are not… worthless participants in the universal game of whatever?" Asked another student.

"Precisely. You're very important participants in that game. The universe is there for you to watch and figure out."

"For survival?" Asked yet another student.

"That too. But how about for the fun of it?" Eyelashes smiled wickedly. "When you plan one of your tricky mischiefs, consider the laws of physics… let's get back to Alice, though."

Twelve looked at Ruth and his frown softened. He didn't need to worry. The headmaster was thoroughly enjoying herself. He turned back to Eyelashes who adjusted his fringe again. He was handsome and showing off. Twelve grinned.

"Alice sees that garden. The door is too small. Her dream state makes her mind much more inventive, not restricted by any notions of physical or social propriety. She welcomes, albeit with a bit of fear, the change in her body that allows her to enter the garden. What are we showed here?"

"The flexibility of her mind?" 

"I just said that. What is it?"

"What is it?"

"Don't parrot me. We are showed that the flexibility of one's mind makes the world flexible. Actually it has always been flexible, but again, we are restricted most of the time. She realises then that she can plan that change, and by the time she finds the Caterpillar and the mushroom, she's so savvy she saves bits of the mushroom to make sure she can change whenever she wants."

"But the world  _ is _ rather… rigid. And restrictive."

"It is, it is. But look at Alice. She's a girl, she's not allowed to be a scientist anywhere but in her dreams, but at the end of the day she’s a much better scientist than a bunch of old white men who have no idea how to boil an egg, while Alice would figure such things out herself with her intuitive understanding of the world. She would invent a pot, start a fire and think of something to handle the hot pot after the egg is boiled. She survives on science. She's the fittest of all the inhabitants of her dream, as well as of most of the inhabitants of our shared world. She listens to her companions and learns their quirks fast. And in the end… in the end she shows a bunch of old white men that they are just flat entities with inflated egos. She begins to learn immediately, while she's falling down the rabbit hole, and what is she discovering? Gravity. The way it affects everyone. But even more importantly, her language shifts. She sees it as a sign of deterioration, and it's her only mistake. Her new language is so useful in the wonderland. It loses its  _ restrictions… _ Look at it this way…" Eyelashes stopped pacing and looked at his shoes pensively. "When you say something as simple as  _ I love you _ , the situation decides for you what you mean.  _ I love you  _ said to a parent is different to the one you say to your crush or your friend. But what if you want to say it differently?.. No, I'm losing it here. Anyway. Let's look for Alice's discoveries throughout the book."

"Well, she practically stumbles into the relativity of time. You know, with the tea party."

"Brilliant! What else?"

"The relative nature of sanity… also, with the tea party. They are not… mad."

"You're awesome, you lot! More." Eyelashes hopped a few times and clapped his big hands awkwardly.

"Body image! With the cat."

"Relativity again. Physics, physics everywhere!" Yelled Eyelashes triumphantly.

"Well… all of it is actually relativity. And gravity."

"A lot of neurological conditions, actually. The way we perceive or fail to perceive our bodies. When she's stuck in the house."

"But!" Eyelashes raised his finger. "She's fine with her body whatever its size when there are no restrictions, no house. She grows tall - and immediately comes up with a practical solution for her shoes. No Oxonian in her time and I'm pretty sure in ours as well, would have thought of it."

"So… what you're telling us is that… locked in a nutshell and stuff?"

"Well, yes, if you like. I didn't think of that one. Good one. Now, enough of that. Let's remember all the equations Alice might have used, had some old white man cared to teach her. We might learn some on the way too."

Once the lesson was over, Eyelashes nearly danced towards Twelve and they laughed together. Eyelashes barely noticed Ms Khan's swooning. Twelve frowned and laughed, both at the same time, and everything was absolutely fantastic, as Nine would have put it.

"You're a good teacher," said Ruth. "I'm glad Twelve has you."

"Nobody  _ has  _ him," grumped Twelve.

  
  



	4. Fuckity WTF

Twelve entered the teachers' room wearing sunglasses and carrying a guitar. He was a badass and somehow heartbreakingly so. Eyelashes wanted to shield him from everyone's eyes with his purple clad body. The pensive rendition of Mahler's Fifth Adagietto on the electric guitar the previous evening was still very clear in his eyes and his ears.

Donna, as it happened ran out of coffee, and was scaring the whole teaching staff into silence while stirring her drink.

"Midlife crisis. I was waiting for it to come to you, Twelve," she said.

"Oi," mocked Twelve and sat next to Eyelashes.

"Made any money on the subway?" Asked Eyelashes.

"Yeah, enough to buy you a pint," scowled Twelve.

Eyelashes thought about language again. The phrase  _ you own my heart, along with a hundred of teenagers and Feynman's lectures on physics  _ didn't sound right, could still freak Twelve out.

Twelve didn't speak with anyone that morning until he walked into his class, sat down and played the first four chords of Beethoven's Fifth.

"Music can help us cheat, therefore it's useful for education." Announced Twelve. Eyelashes sneaked in, having given his own class a test that the curriculum demanded, and having made sure they knew where to look for answers, Google included.

"See… When we do this," Twelve played the following four chords

of Beethoven's Fifth. "We know exactly both the location and the speed. Totally against the quantum theory and in perfect accordance with it. Here we have a string, its entire range. Suck it, string theory, every point on that string is totally describable." The next four chords followed. "Besides, we know the speed of sound and that the acoustics of this room is insufferable to say the least." Twelve put Eric Clapton to shame with a quick blues improvisation.

"In the real world, though, when there's no guitar, two questions arise!" Twelve arose, himself, abandoning his guitar and walking around the class. He gesticulated wildly, his gray hair even more furious than his frown  _ or  _ Eyelashes' fringe.

"And the two questions are! Why are you traveling or discovering something on the floor of your bathroom without a guitar? What should we do when we don't have a string which is actually a string to observe, and not a theoretical concept? So, what should we do, bright young minds?" He turned around, half dancing, half making sure his old long legs still knew how to move in a swift, aesthetically pleasing manner.

"Analogies?" Suggested one of the students.

"Precisely…" Twelve approached the student. One could tell it was the middle of the year because the student didn't make any attempts to shrink away and just let their teacher meander his own way. "Continue."

"It will be very approximate, but still, one could try to analyze each point on a  _ string _ and have an approximate answer which is good enough most of the time." The student continued.

"I know!" Said Twelve raising his hands up to the sky.

Eyelashes tried not to laugh. Twelve would misunderstand it and make him pay for the takeaway.

"So…" Twelve opened one of the windows and whistled. A sparrow sat on his hand and looked at Twelve quizzically. "Here we have a bird… Shut up and eat your oatmeal…bird."

"Oooh, a sparrow," cooed another student.

"Healthy reaction, good… So let's say this sparrow wants to go to… Brighton! I want his speed, his possible stops, ETA and so forth. Go for it! Some unfortunate fellow! Up to the blackboard to write it all! Hate chalk…" Finished Twelve, despite being already covered in chalk for some reason.

It was Friday, which at that point meant the following: Twelve chose and bought takeaway (since it was Friday, it was Chinese and Eyelashes knew it meant beef and pork dumplings for him), Eyelashes chose and brought alcohol (since it was Friday, it was gin, and Eyelashes had given up arguing long ago), they'd eat and drink and get sloshed and after some lovely discussion over whatever it was Twelve wanted to argue about (it was Friday, it was news), Twelve would retire to his bed and Eyelashes, to his sofa (it was his, he slept on it after all). Eyelashes was looking forward to the familiar scenario.

But nothing turned out particularly familiar.

Twelve brought him fried rice with pork in sweet and sour sauce. Eyelashes was worried.

Twelve revealed a bottle of very old Calvados. After a few glasses of this, Eyelashes didn't worry about anything. It occurred to him that it must have been Twelve's plan all along. Whatever the old man had planned, it was working.

"I do your laundry," began Twelve from the floor where he rested looking at the ceiling.

"You do," agreed Eyelashes and giggled.

"I do all your laundry, not just your bloody ridiculous silk shirts."

"You love my silk shirts! You stole one."

"You stole mine." Twelve raised himself on the elbows. "And sleep in it."

"When I sleep here." Argued Eyelashes. "You sleep in mine regardless."

"I never slept at your place. You're scared shitless every time I touch something there."

"I'm scared shitless every time  _ I  _ touch something there. I touch stuff - and it moves." Eyelashes realised that sitting was no longer a viable option and laid down on his sofa. Sweet dreams of worn out pyjama bottoms and soft t-shirts and cozy old sheets and blankets and a lovely collection of memory foam pillows that Twelve had discarded as having failed to alleviate his neck pain, rushed through his mind. 

"Your fringe is getting murderous," remarked Twelve.

"Don't worry," Eyelashes smiled. "It's just drunk." He adjusted it. Twelve reached out with his hand from the floor and adjusted Eyelashes' fringe again. 

"And you have a place here." Twelve had apparently been thinking that what he was saying was coherent, so one could conclude -- as Eyelashes did -- that Twelve continued his line of thought. 

"I'm losing you there, love," said Eyelashes. Something about language and freaking Twelve out chimed about his ears but he was too far gone.

Twelve sat up cross legged and frowned at Eyelashes. 

Speaking of language, the language of Twelve could be reduced to frowns. The man was extremely eloquent with his eyebrows. _No_, thought Eyelashes, _also grins, there is a manic-happy grin, manic-mocking grin, manic-manic grin which can be good or bad or both or neither, so manic-manic passive-aggressive…_

"We spend all our time together and I don't want to hide from you after a few minutes in your company."

"I guess I'm honoured."

"You should be." Twelve frowned and didn't grin. 

"Where is this going?" Eyelashes blew his fringe out of his eyes.

"I want you to live with me." Twelve said confidently. 


	5. Fuckity dance

"I want you to live with me." Twelve said confidently.

Eyelashes felt he had to sit up and, simultaneously, that he was quite incapable of doing so. 

"For fuck's sake, stay down," said Twelve and stood up to sit by Eyelashes' purple drunk figure. 

"You… that's why I didn't get dumplings?" 

"Mostly. Wanted to make it special… To alert you to something… new." Twelve waved his hands in the air. 

"I'm alerted… Look."

"Yeap, looking." Twelve indeed looked.

Eyelashes frantically searched his mind for something polite and tender.

"I'm… There is nothing I want more, I'd love to live with you."

"Great! And when I die, you'll get the flat as my partner!" Twelve grinned.

Eyelashes slowly rose and looked at Twelve through his fringe. Twelve adjusted it. 

"I don't want you to die. I love you." Eyelashes said. 

Twelve took Eyelashes' hands and rested his forehead on the younger man's knuckles.

"It feels so good to know exactly what you mean," muttered Twelve. "I wanted to hear it like that someday."

Eyelashes freed one hand and gingerly touched Twelve's hair. His wicked, mischievous plans were ruined, and he was bittersweetly happy, no, rather he was just happy before Twelve mentioned his death.

"The whole school ships us." Eyelashes confessed.

"Where?" Twelve lifted his head and frowned.  _ Manic puzzled. _

"Nowhere. They think we're in love, romantically." Eyelashes clarified.

"And? Have you been playing into it?"  _ Manic-manic puzzled, angry, glad to be angry. _

"A bit. Mostly I did nothing to discourage them and a lot to encourage them."  _ Manic puzzled, curious, interested, manic grin-frown. _

"Why?" 

"If they file us under the wrong title they will never get to touch or spoil the true thing."

"You're quite the master."  _ Manic pleased, more grin than frown.  _ "I'm not playing into it, though. Too complex, and besides… I don't have anything to hide or be ashamed for."

"Neither do I. Sorry." Eyelashes looked aside.

"It's alright. Your capacity for mischief is one of your most endearing qualities." Twelve praised.

"Do you want them to know the real thing, though?"

"I don't care about  _ them _ in the first place." Twelve shrugged. 

"I won't let them pester you. I will play with them and mock them and let them figure everything out themselves."

_ Manic puzzled, manic pleased, manic happy, just grin, no frown. _

"I'll do the washing up and cleaning. You'll do the laundry and sandwiches. My paperwork too."

"Fuck off. Do your own paperwork. I have enough as the head of department."

"Of course," Eyelashes chuckled. "Please don't die."

"Everybody dies. Hamlet dies, Lear dies…"

"I will never let you die like them!" Eyelashes held Twelve's hands close. "You'll never die alone, never die suffering. Not with me, not on my watch."

"I'm what? Twenty years older than you?"

"I'll smoke more." Eyelashes promised.

"Well… fine by me." Twelve rose to his feet. "You should sleep. I think. I'll see you in the morning. I'm ok with your mess."

"Your entire place is a mess," reminded Eyelashes.

"Yes, but I'm not surprised that things move when I touch them. For such a lover of chaos, you curiously don't like living in it."

"I can't find a thing!"

"I'll help you. Now, will you be able to help yourself to your pyjamas or do I need to help you with that too?"

"I'm good."

"You're the very opposite of good, Eyelashes. I admire it." Twelve turned around and walked to his bedroom.

Eyelashes gathered his wits, took his waistcoat off and went carrying both the waistcoat and the coat to Twelve's bedroom. There he hung his clothes into the wardrobe, as Twelve grumped to his bed how traitorous it was, pulled pyjama bottoms and a black shirt out of the chest of drawers and wished Twelve good night. 

Back in the sitting room, Eyelashes changed, took the stuff of his dreams (literally) from under the sofa and set up his sleeping place. He laid down and took a deep, happy breath when Twelve called him.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to take the other bedroom?"

"No fucking way. Not giving up my sofa for anything."

"Thought so. You can use the other bedroom as your office." 

"Stop talking to me from another room!"

"Well, I'm not getting up!"

"Neither am I. Good night, Twelve."

"Yeah, you too, Eyelashes."

***

They showed up to work on Monday sleep-deprived and quietly content. Ms Khan made a lot of faces from which Eyelashes tried to shield Twelve, although it was unnecessary: Twelve noticed other people only if they addressed him directly at least thrice. 

Eyelashes felt young, fierce and protective. 

Donna was still out of her coffee and having caught Ms Khan's faces suddenly snapped.

"If you measure relationships by fuck/no fuck, well, do I have a surprise for you!" she stormed out with her coffee. Eyelashes made a mental note to get her the best coffee his salary could buy.

He had a lot of mental notes to take care of. Eyelashes couldn't tolerate Twelve's coffee machine, a gift from Twelve's wife which Twelve never thought to replace. Life without fish fingers was also intolerable. When Eyelashes mentioned it, Twelve just waved his hand,  _ manic puzzled, manic pleased, manic puzzled. _

Eyelashes had long accepted that Twelve would never agree to a change unless there was a reason and more importantly a rhyme to it. 

So after work Eyelashes, ignoring all the glances, whispers, cooing and gossip, dragged Twelve to the shops.

"You're too excited," was all Twelve said.

"I want a proper coffee machine… I'll make your tea all the same."

"Oh please, I can't make tea like that," replied Twelve and proceeded to torture a shop assistant about the physics of a coffee machine. Eyelashes was elated.

He was looking forward to picking up Twelve's medicine from the pharmacy, fighting over an appointment for Twelve's sake, doing all the bloody paperwork for both of them, anything to tuck Twelve in at the end of the day and glare out of their now shared windows at the world that wanted to put a label on them. 

He would pull the curtains closed. 

"Dance with me."

"Naaah."  _ Manic puzzled, manic beautiful, manic vulnerable and fragile, questioning eyes, lovely frown, grin to die for. _

"Fucking dance with me."

"I don't dance."

"Well, I'm happy to move in with you, dance with me."

"Oh… ok… fuckity dance."

"Yes, precisely."

_ The kind fate crawled out and let Eyelashes gaze into Twelve's frown and memorise it. Did he really have to mention his death? _

Eyelashes bought a calendar, something funny, with animals. He cut out Twelve's birthday five years in advance. He placed the order in his favourite bakery to make a cake once a month. He made sure anyone Twelve had to deal with would always call him and bother him instead with appointments, schedulings and so forth. He made green tea with Jasmine and honey in the middle of the night. He ensured nobody would ever ask Twelve anything before asking him, and if anyone complained, well, good luck to them, because Eyelashes intended to keep Twelve with him until the end of the world.

When Twelve was asleep in his bed, among many more memory foam pillows that did nothing to his neck pain, Eyelashes googled everything he could about neck pains, about everything, anything. 

He would bring fresh juice, make salad, run over a hospital to ensure an appointment, anything really to make sure that Twelve stayed with him, in his, Twelve's, bedroom, while Eyelashes dozed off on his sofa.

***

As the years floundered by, people told Eyelashes over and over again, _ he won't care in the end, you don't have to waste your time, you don't need to waste your youth. _

Eyelashes put them all to shame. Twelve's were all the appointments, surgeries, visits and checkups, while Eyelashes held his hand and promised it would be over soon. 

And yes, he'd hold his hand and he'd clean the flat.

It was all still in the future, in the frozen Februaries of the years to come.


	6. Fuckity tender

Usually their nights went like this. Around midnight Twelve would get up and wander about the flat. He would gesticulate, talk to himself in a loud whisper which he considered quiet enough not to wake Eyelashes, and Eyelashes would always wake up by two in the morning when Twelve settled for a game of chess. The older man would walk around the chess table and talk to his imaginary adversary and discuss his strategy with the imaginary version of Eyelashes, and at that point Eyelashes would get up and join Twelve. Their conversation would always be the same.

"Can't sleep, love?" Eyelashes would ask and make his move on the chessboard.

"Does it look like I can?" Twelve would answer.

"It definitely doesn't." Eyelashes would smile.

"You should sleep though." Twelve would look up, a bit embarrassed. 

"I slept enough for now. It's alright. Don't want you to have all the fun of wandering around to yourself."

They would play chess, Twelve would win, Eyelashes would pretend to be upset about it and Twelve would see right through it and get angry at Eyelashes for going easy on him, and Eyelashes would smirk and nod. Both would silently agree that Eyelashes couldn't stand a chance against Twelve, but Twelve's high opinion about Eyelashes' chess-playing pleased the younger man to no end. 

They would drink some tea Eyelashes would make, and then Eyelashes would lure Twelve into his bedroom, tuck him in, run his fingers through the gray hair several times, scratch at his beard to make sure Twelve was grumpily sleepy enough to be bothered by such noises, and then Eyelashes would go back to his sofa and both would sleep calmly for two hours more. 

That night, however, Eyelashes sensed that they wouldn't return to sleep. Twelve was more restless than usual and bit his lips and fingernails so much Eyelashes had to hold Twelve's hands under his, resigned to the fact that Twelve's lips would end up badly bitten, but at least his hands would be fine. Then he had an idea.

"I'm gonna rub some chili into your lips if you don't stop. You'll yell, that's for sure, but at least you'll stop torturing your lips!"

Twelve looked up in appreciative shock.

"Brilliant," he praised.

"Yeah, that's me. Are you going to behave?"

Twelve nodded and Eyelashes lifted one of his hands. Twelve used his newfound and still limited freedom to adjust Eyelashes' fringe.

"I know you're worried." Eyelashes said quietly.

"Not worried, I'm fucking scared." Twelve shook his head furiously. 

"I'll be there," said Eyelashes softly.

"You won't be there when I'm put to sleep." 

"I won't. But I will be outside and I will wait and it's going to be stressful for both of us, but at least you won't be able to freak out."

"So you'll have all the freaking out to yourself?" Twelve grinned,  _ manic excited, manic scared, manic panic, manic pleased, manic relaxed, manic panic again. _

"I will. Would you like me to wreak havoc through the hospital?"

"No, please, don't distract them… You know, I'm too old to sleep. It begins to feel like such a waste of time!" Twelve hid his liberated hand under Eyelashes'.

"The last person who spoke like this was Captain Ahab. You're far from him." Eyelashes clasped Twelve's hands over the chess table.

"I'm definitely just as manic. Didn't find my whale, that's all."  _ Manic humourous, manic tender, manic tired. _

"Look, we did everything…"

"No,  _ you  _ did everything." Twelve corrected.

"Alright, I did everything, and you're having the surgery now, in summer, so no students or classes to worry about."

"They are going to cut my knee, though."

"They are going to fix your knee, so that you don't have to have a full knee replacement surgery, remember?"

"I always fancied being a bit of a robot." 

"You are a bit of a robot, but your details just need some… polishing." Eyelashes felt he wasn't helping much.

"Thank you. I wouldn't have done it or paid attention to it, had it not been for you," Twelve turned his hands to lace their fingers together.

"It's all for selfish reasons, you know. Don't want you to leave me alone." Eyelashes shrugged.

"You'll never be alone, though." Twelve said.

"Without you, I will always be alone." Eyelashes replied looking Twelve straight in the eye.

"So would I…" Twelve whispered.

"So, in order to avoid such morbid fate we're going to the hospital in the morning, you'll scare the shit out of the doctors just as you did all the way through and they won't dare feel relieved when you fall asleep and I'll wait outside. If all goes well, we'll be back home by the evening… and if something doesn't go well, you'll frown at it and we'll have to stay the night." Eyelashes spoke running soothing circles over Twelve's knuckles.

"You have very… cherry-like eyes." Twelve said out of nowhere.

"Why, thank you, but if you punch me, they won't look like a cherry pie, I'm afraid." 

"When I wake up, I want you to hold my hand."

"Promise."

***

As promised, Eyelashes held Twelve's hand. Two hours had passed in drinking a full thermos of coffee and reading one very complicated study which Eyelashes understood nothing about but he was looking forward to Twelve explaining it all to him while frowning and grinning.  _ Manic clever, manic beautiful. _

"Still under?"

Eyelashes looked up and saw a tall woman with wild curly hair. She was wearing a beige trench coat over a black dress.

"Hi, River." 

"Hello, sweetie," she sat next to him and gave him a careful kiss on the cheek. "How come your beard is so soft and his was always something to scrub pans with?"

"Mine is better taken care of."

"So vain, so vain. Bet he forgot I was coming."

"Would be a pleasant surprise then." Eyelashes smiled and looked back at Twelve.

"He's very angry even asleep," remarked River.

"Scares away all the nightmares, I'm sure." 

"So… we just wait?"

"Yes."

"Ok. I brought the food." River nodded towards a neat thermobag by the entrance.

"Brilliant."

"Let's wait then." 


	7. Fuckity knee

"I believe it all began with the neck pains. When did it go all the way down to your knees?" River asked. She and Eyelashes sat on either side of Twelve's bed and all three rather hungrily bit into pitas with chicken curry River had brought.

"Ask Mr hypochondriac by proxy," replied Twelve grouchily. 

"Hey, you thanked me only yesterday," replied Eyelashes.

"I'm not saying anything against you, just stating the fact." Twelve's face softened, though.

"Look, your heart of gold shines through." River giggled. 

"Don't tell anybody," Eyelashes nudged her.

"Oh, never. He's the kindest, softest, smartest and definitely the most heartless man in the whole wide world." River wiped sauce off of Eyelashes' mouth.

"I might be dirty too," said Twelve innocently.

"Oh, but he's younger and sexier." River and Eyelashes burst out laughing. "Come on, the whole way down to your knees. Let's have a conversation about graceful aging."

"Nothing graceful. He found me a good masseur." Twelve looked into his pita suspiciously.

"It's fine, you've just eaten all the chicken." Eyelashes stood up, took the pita from Twelve and brought him the new one. "Actually, Donna found you a good masseur."

"Donna? Always knew she's awesome!" River exclaimed.

"And definitely awe-inspiring," added Eyelashes and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you, sweetie." River gently touched Twelve's hand. He winced and she quickly removed her fingers.

"How did you charm him enough to let him touch him?" River laughed and shook her head. Eyelashes caught Twelve's scared and apologetic gaze. 

"I'm going to throw away the leftovers." River chuckled knowingly.

"River, I'm so…" Twelve began.

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for. You're awesome. I will definitely not kiss you."

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome, sweetie. I'll be back in a moment." River left. Eyelashes squeezed Twelve's hand.

"She shouldn't have come," said Twelve.

"You agreed she could. She brought great food, she adores you, love, and this is some positivity you so desperately need. Consider it therapy." Eyelashes smiled. Twelve gingerly adjusted his fringe.

"I hurt her. She shouldn't adore me."

"You're just too adorable…" Eyelashes laughed seeing Twelve's particularly furious frown. "You're easy to love, Twelve, and you never hurt anyone intentionally. Unless of course you're being vengeful… but I approve of it."

"Of course you do." Twelve grinned,  _ manic relieved, manic relaxed, manic painless for once.  _

"I talked to the nurse, she's bringing you a wheelchair." River returned. "Now, I told her you won't agree to a wheelchair, so I brought you crutches." She waved deep blue crutches in the air. 

Twelve winced. To River's and Twelve's own surprise Eyelashes persuaded him to use the wheelchair just this once, just to get to River's car faster.

"River, this is ridiculous," said Twelve as he saw River's vintage Rover.

"No, my love, you're ridiculous and my car and Eyelashes are beautiful." 

"Take him away, why won't you?" Twelve said bitterly. Both River and Eyelashes looked at him puzzled.  _ Manic bitter, manic lonely, manic scared. _

"Take away from me something good and… I don't deserve it anyway, do I?"

"Alright, love, you're to shut up, we're getting you in the fucking car and once you're done being all grouchy and obnoxious, you're going to apologise, to me, to River and to the Rover." Eyelashes said evenly.

"Especially to the Rover." River added. "You're a saint, I would have killed him."

Eyelashes turned to her sharply.

"I'm no saint. Stop teasing him, you know very well he's not in the mood or condition to take it right."

The younger man swiftly and carefully helped Twelve into the car. The drive home was silent, apart from one moment, half way through, when Twelve muttered:

"I'm sorry. It was stupid."

"You're scared and tired, it's fine." Eyelashes replied and looked away. River cast them a glance through the rearview mirror and shook her head. 

"You're doing great," she said finally. 

When they arrived, Donna was waiting for them by the entrance to their building with a stash of pizzas. 

"I thought you'd never get back!" She said and handed the pizzas to schocked Eyelashes.

"How… what?" He managed.

"I know everything, but most importantly, I know your masseur."

"Wicked!" Twelve praised. 

"You know what, pretty boy, give me the pizzas, someone has to get Twelve up," River took the food and immediately began talking with Donna as if they had been talking all along.

"They scare me," admitted Eyelashes. "Alright… Bridal style?"

***

River and Donna left late at night. 

"Was rather tiresome," said Twelve as Eyelashes tucked him in. 

"Was fun - and rather tiresome." He chuckled. 

"I made a fucking scene."

"You did, love."

"Stop doting on me."

"Never. Just to see you all flustered and wild." 

Twelve didn't answer to that. 

"Good night?" Eyelashes asked.

"Good night," Twelve replied quietly,  _ manic tired, so, so tired, manic old, manic precious. _

Eyelashes drew the curtains and stepped out of the room.

"And when I wake up?" Twelve asked so quietly Eyelashes was almost sure he had imagined it.

"Then you'll have to call me." He smiled, shrugging. 

"No way you're not coming," replied Twelve.

"Absolutely. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

***

They spent half the night wandering the flat and playing chess, the way it usually was, the only difference being that Twelve grumped much more and used Eyelashes instead of the crutches. 

Had anyone seen them, that anyone would have concluded that they seemed to be at their happiest.


	8. Fuckity older than whatever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's coming for dinner?  
Also, sorry for the delay...

Eyelashes woke up in the middle of the night - nothing uncertain or unusual. He scanned the ceiling for any immediate signs of danger. His brain caught up with the rest of him. Alright, there was a flicker of light from the bathroom. 

Eyelashes growled. Summer holidays be damned, he wanted to sleep, nay, hibernate. And there was that light in the bathroom. Twelve must have been up to some mischief… Eyelashes smiled fondly at the ceiling… 

And sat up.

Judging by the hour, Twelve had to be walking around the flat muttering about quantum physics - or at least the fact that starfish pooped from the same orifice they used to eat. Eyelashes winced. 

He stumbled into the bathroom. Oh, of course, of course! What else was he expecting!?

Twelve sat on the lid of the toilet and was eating double spearmint toothpaste. He was very pensive and chewed dramatically.

Eyelashes wanted to be angry. Grumpy even… but instead he found himself short of breath, choking on his own tenderness and perhaps some vague memory of a Mozart's piano… thing. 

"Twelve, you're not supposed to eat toothpaste." Eyelashes suggested carefully.

"Why do they add taste to it, then?" Twelve swallowed a mouthful of toothpaste and looked up at Eyelashes.

"Well, I don't know, really. But like… do you really want to be sick?" Eyelashes asked tentatively.

"Why would I be sick?" Twelve asked. His lips were totally white from the toothpaste, and Eyelashes supposed, so was his tongue. The state of the tube suggested Twelve had eaten quite a lot.

"Because you know, you've eaten almost the entire tube and… and you're not supposed to. And why are you awake and eating toothpaste anyway?" Eyelashes waved his arms in the air to make his point clearer. 

"Interesting… Why would anyone in their right mind add a taste to something inedible? What is the point?" Twelve frowned at Eyelashes, as if it had been his fault. 

"Love, your right mind and the state most people refer to as the right mind are so wildly different, they are not even opposite. They are from parallel universes… or something. Please, stop eating the fucking toothpaste!" Eyelashes couldn't rely on Twelve to do it, so he stepped into the bathroom and snatched the finished tube from Twelve's hands. "It says so in the box, Twelve! You're not supposed to eat it and should keep it away from children!" Eyelashes helped Twelve to his feet.

"But that's impossible!" Twelve's vaguely arthritic fingers moved equally vaguely in the air. (Eyelashes had to fix it, now that the knee thing was out of the way.) 

"What is, love?" Eyelashes asked.

"If you have kids, then what? You keep your toothpaste in a safe? Like… like cleaning stuff and cyanide?" 

"Most people don't have cyanide in their homes," Eyelashes reminded. His heart was too big to be healthy. He didn't know what to do and how to breathe. He'd slash a dragon or ten for Twelve, he'd run a stolen bulldozer over any hospital or doctor or anyone who had the misfortune of displeasing Twelve, he'd walk a thousand miles - and it wouldn't be enough - but none of it would help him breathe. 

Eyelashes tucked Twelve in and sat next to him, holding his hand.

"Most people don't have you in their homes," Twelve said meaningfully. "When in your company, one wants to go on living out of spite." Twelve smiled, that warm smile, that blessed grin that turned his face into a baked apple.

"I count on it, love," Eyelashes adjusted his fringe. 

"And you smile bashfully," Twelve remarked.

"Hey, that's not fair! You just… make me all flustered!" Eyelashes laughed all the same.

"Eyelashes… If I ever… don't want to live… if I get so old, I won't want to live… Remind me I can't leave you alone, alright? You promise?"

"I swear!" Eyelashes said with passion.

He turned the lights off and retreated to his sofa. 

The darkness couldn't care less of course, but he grit his teeth against it and bit his lip at its lack of response. Lovers could demand things, for sure, but friends, companions, partners couldn't… Wasn't in the tradition. Maybe he should have asked River to do it for them - and she would. Mischievous, loyal, fierce River, she'd gamble anything, she'd  _ do  _ anything to make them happy, however unfair it was to her. She seemed alright, though. She seemed happy. Twelve, on the other hand, was low, was sad, was melancholic - and just ate too much toothpaste! 

Eyelashes sat up and rubbed his eyes. It couldn't wait, his mission, his quest to stay happy, to have a companion, oh fuck the words and labels, to have Twelve. 

He wrote about a dozen annoying emails, made quite a few appointments for Twelve - and himself, while he was at it, - checked the dates of Twelve's physiotherapy…

Then it was dawn. Eyelashes head was dizzy, he felt sicker than Twelve, he felt… he felt old - and how maddening it was? Who dared think up such nonsense? Being old… Out of all people, Twelve, with his wild grey hair, with his freshly fixed knee and arthritic fingers… Twelve could never be old. 

Eyelashes' phone chimed. He looked at it.

** _River_ ** :  _ I know you don't want to, I know you don't think about it, but soon he'll need a carer - and no, you idiot, not because you're not enough, but because you're getting old too. Remember ten years ago when we picked him up from the hospital? He's ten years older now, and so are you. For now, just think of it. Get used to the idea. You mentioned the cold Februaries to come once… They are coming, sweetie.  _

Eyelashes wanted to block River, but after a few deep breaths he realised that River was right. He sighed and began browsing for a live-in carer. 

"I like that one," Twelve remarked behind Eyelashes back. The younger man - could he still be called that? - jumped up. 

"You scared me!" 

Twelve just pushed a cup of coffee into Eyelashes' hands and pointed at the profile on Eyelashes' phone. "I like that one." 

"This is a woman, love."

"Don't assume. She seems… curious and just. What's her name again?" 

"Bill," Eyelashes supplied. 

"Bill… we should definitely call Bill." 

Eyelashes looked at Bill's picture: young, with an afro and disarming smile, she needed a place to live and wanted to be useful. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
